Gifts
by Kilrez
Summary: What happened that resulted in me being forced to lie here and suffer through your atrocious verbal barbs' asked House dryly. Wilson smiled benignly. 'A disgruntled patient hit you with his car. No one was surprised.'


**Gifts**

OK, so I was out and away. I cut the strings, cut loose, and ran. I actually made it quite a way. So far away, in fact, that when I broke both my leg bones out there, they needed an aeroplane to fly me in again. So here I am, leg in a cast, sitting at the computer all day long with nothing to do. The answer... fanfiction.

I hope you all enjoy this little piece. It's the gift I come bearing in the hopes of forgiveness for running away. (promise to change my bio back as soon as I get around to it). Also, since I seem to have gotten into the beta habit, this was beta'ed by the lovely Ataea...

Read on.

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He wasn't sleepy, but it was so very hard to open his eyes. And when he did, the scene was just all wrong. His heavy lids wouldn't stay open for more than a few blurry seconds though, so maybe the hospital room (and why was it so damn colorful?) was his drug-hazed imagination. Yet he could sense Wilson… and Wilson, waiting calmly beside his bed… he didn't think that would be something he'd imagine if he were to imagine this. He went in more for the blond and buxom types in these dream thingies. 

Thought too rapidly slipped away then, and House dozed, although he hadn't meant to.

Wilson waited. When House next awoke, it was close to an hour later. He blinked a couple of times, then closed one eye and frowned like this would somehow make things clearer.

'Wilson, the aliens have got me,' he said, with barely a hint of fuzziness.

'Poor little things. I tried to warn them away, but they wouldn't listen. Said something about needing egos to power their mothership.'

House let out a short laugh, rolling his head on his pillow to pin Wilson with an unsteady gaze. 'Why am I here?' he asked, a few seconds later.

'Depends on which philosopher you ask. Alternately, you could go the priest route, in which case the answer is 'because God said so.' They answer a lot of things that way actually…'

'Patient wakes up from deep unconsciousness- you're meant to do the reassure and explain thing.'

'I know. I just figure you'd be more reassured by mocking than by anything else.'

'How thoughtful of you. Now try again. What happened that resulted in me being forced to lie here and suffer through your atrocious verbal barbs?'

Wilson smiled benignly. 'A disgruntled patient hit you with their car. No one was surprised.'

'A… car…' House repeated, rolling his head to change the view back to the ceiling. A virulently red, heart-shaped balloon bumped against the ceiling vent. Wilson took pity on him.

'Not really. You actually had a minor aneurysm, and collapsed spectacularly. Needed surgery to make sure we didn't lose any of your overly large brain.' Wilson made his tone slightly more serious so House could tell he was being truthful this time.

'Where was it?'

'Where did you collapse, or where was the clot? Clot was in the temporal lobe, and you collapsed in the clinic.'

'What was I doing in the clinic?'

'I'd like to say working, but that would be a lie.'

'Naturally.'

'It's on the record though that Cuddy thought you were faking.'

House smiled.

There were a few minutes of silence in which House closed his eyes. He probably slept, but Wilson wouldn't have bet anything on it. He had no problems with waiting.

'And all the disgustingly cute iconography, which defames bears, rabbits and children everywhere?'

Bemused, Wilson looked around the room, trying to see it through House's (freshly re-opened) eyes.

'If you mean the cards, teddy bears, balloons and other indications of people's wishes that you get better quickly…'

'I wouldn't be surprised if that bear is secretly soaked in anthrax spores and the cards are full of hate mail.'

'Nope,' replied Wilson gleefully. He plucked up a card at random from where it rested among the many others on every flat surface in the room. '"Dear doctor House. I hop yew get betta soon. Luv Annabell." It's written in purple crayon. And I like this one- "Dr. House- Thankyou for fixing me when I was screwed, good luck with hospital food."'

'How sweet,' House commented dryly.

'Face it House. Much to everyone's shock and astonishment, your patients all love you.'

House let out a weak and very disbelieving laugh. 'It was probably a mistake. Talk to all the ones that have taken a swing at me.'

With a twinkle in his eye, Wilson stood and glided over to a cabinet by the door. Elegant fingers plucked a card _just so_ from among the rabble. House groaned, but it did not forestall Wilson reading it out loud.

'"Thankyou for healing Keith, and I'm really sorry I punched you. I hope you get well soon." See- even the ones that can't restrain themselves from assaulting you like you.'

'I guess I'm just that wonderful,' muttered House darkly. 'Couldn't you take them away or something? The colors are making my eyes hurt.'

Wilson rolled his eyes. 'You could audition for the part of Scrooge in the play the oncology ward is putting on. You're as bald as them now, so you'd fit right in.'

'I never liked boiled lollies,' House replied sleepily, eyes drooping closed. Wilson grinned as he fell asleep again, and then went to fetch a nurse.

**oo00OO00oo**

Chase too, was grinning wickedly as he read a card. He handed it to Cameron before leaning forwards and picking out another chocolate.

'That's a licorice flavored one,' Foreman warned absently, not looking up from the lengthy poetry of the card he was engaged in. Chase flicked the chocolate towards the bin and made another selection.

'Did we ever treat anyone called Hyacinth?' asked Cameron, the look on her face somewhat amused from the content of the card Chase had handed her.

'Must've been a clinic patient,' said Chase.

'Did House ever treat anyone in the clinic?' asked Cameron jokingly. Foreman looked up with a raised eyebrow, then grabbed another card off the pile. Chase shrugged. 'Doesn't matter. These are really good chocolates.'

'And this office looks like an elephant rampaged through a gift shop before exploding,' Foreman said dryly.

'Colorful metaphor,' commented Chase.

Foreman inclined his head in acknowledgment, then made a gesture taking in the piles of get-well gifts that had been relocated to the office. 'Just personally, I find the whole thing eerie. Either people like being treated like inhuman pin-cushions, or he secretly turns nice once he's out of our hearing range.'

'Both options scare me,' agreed Chase.

'Perhaps he's just a genuinely good and nice person underneath his harsh, gruff exterior,' Cameron tried, although she sounded like she was having trouble believing herself. Foreman snorted and snagged a chocolate.

'At least he's out of our hair for the next few weeks.'

'I can hear his loving patients weeping,' grinned Chase.

The End

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You know, if all of the 62 people who have me on author alert reviewed this, I'd be a very happy person. I'd probably even write out an idea that's been hovering for you in thanks. 


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